by J. C. Eaton
“What’s that?”
“Someone in that convent doesn’t want you snooping around.”
“That’s exactly what Sister Gloria said. More or less.”
“Hmm, with those nuns poised to inherit a serious amount of money and the fact their van may indeed have been used in those heists, I’m beginning to wonder if—”
“I know. I’m wondering the same thing—which one of them is orchestrating this charade.”
Chapter 21
“I keep going over it again and again in my mind,” I said to Cammy the next morning when I stopped by the tasting room. It was twenty minutes to ten and everyone had arrived, except for Sam and Lizzie.
Cammy poured me a hot cup of coffee while I recounted yesterday’s events.
“For the life of me, I can’t figure out who threw me to the ground. Certainly not one of those neophyte nuns slaving away in the kitchen. And definitely not Sister Katherine. She was in the garage being grilled by deputies from two counties. And as far as Sister Gloria is concerned, she’d be the last person I’d accuse. Besides, she was already in the garage when I arrived.”
“Wasn’t there a third nun?”
“Oh yeah. Sister Celeste. But she was sequestered in her room upstairs with a bad migraine. Everyone was tiptoeing around so as not to make a noise that would disturb her.”
Cammy reached under her table for a box of crackers and added more to the small bowl wedged between the water pitcher and the tasting sheets. “Maybe there’s another player you don’t know about.”
“Like who?”
“What about one of those cheesecake delivery guys? Could be they have had something to hide.”
“Oh my gosh. I all but forgot. I have their names. First and second, but not necessarily connected.”
“Huh?”
“One of the nuns knew the first names and another knew the last. Kind of like a mix and match thing. No biggie.”
“It’s a start. If they’re locals, someone around this area is bound to know them.”
“I’m sure Deputy Hickman and his Seneca County cronies will do an official search for criminal records and all that, but I’ve got social media. I can ask the wineries at our end of the lake if either name rings a bell.”
Just then Lizzie walked in and rushed over to us. “You can thank me later, but I did a little of my own Nancy Drew sleuthing. I’ve been far too demanding of you, Norrie, expecting you to follow up on every lead, so I tracked one down for you.”
“Uh…thanks. What lead?”
“Remember that woman you told me about who paid for Pinot Noir by credit card the night before Thanksgiving? The one whose friend’s son, Scottie, is supposedly a hotshot in the wine business? Well, I tracked her down and lo and behold! She’s my dentist’s receptionist. Small world, don’t you think? I decided it had been a while since I had my teeth cleaned so I drove over there to make an appointment. I wanted to find out what this Scottie guy knows about the wine market. Especially since he encouraged his mother’s friends to buy out the Pinot Noir.”
“And? What did you find out?”
“He has about as much validity as Alvin, our goat.”
Cammy and I both laughed, and Lizzie continued. “Turns out, the son is a part-time limousine driver for Finger Lakes Winery Tours, and he supplements his income making deliveries for smaller companies. That doesn’t make him an industry professional. Although the woman did say Scottie had an uncle who was ‘higher up in the business.’ Goodness. That’s probably someone who worked stocking wine in a warehouse.”
“Oh brother.” I rubbed the back of my neck and shook my head. “At least that’s one lead we can cross off the chart.”
“Quite true,” Lizzie said. “Nancy Drew solved many a mystery by the process of elimination.”
At that moment, Sam came through the door and shouted, “Hey! Did you catch the news? They just arrested some bigwig from Seneca Lake Communities Bank for certain account discrepancies. Isn’t that a euphemism for embezzlement?”
“Not necessarily,” Cammy said. “It could be anything.”
Lizzie tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “Seneca Lake Communities Bank? That’s the bank Arnold Mowen did business with until he transferred his accounts to First Liberty Federal. I was told Mr. Mowen had a falling out with one of the higher-ups.”
“Falling out or not paying out?” I turned to Sam, “Did they give the name of the guy who was arrested? I’d be curious if it turned out to be the one Arnold had trouble with. In fact…”
Cammy cut in before Sam could respond. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That maybe the man they arrested might’ve done more than ‘cook the books’ or whatever it’s called these days?”
Sam gave her a nudge. “Aw, why don’t you come out and say it? You’re thinking our banker guy could also be Arnold’s killer.”
“Oh my God! I exclaimed. “Who didn’t want Arnold Mowen dead? The list of suspects keeps growing exponentially. By the time we get to the reading of his will, it won’t be a legal procedure, it’ll be a who’s who of suspects.”
“Goodness,” Lizzie said. “It’s almost ten and we’re about to open. We’ll have to revisit this later.”
With that, she walked directly over to her spot at the cash register/computer. Sam hightailed it to his table, which was adjacent to Roger’s and Glenda’s spots. Thankfully, those two were busy unloading wine bottles so we were spared long diatribes about the French and Indian War and God knows whatever unearthly scenario Glenda would dredge up.
“Have a good morning, everyone!” I called and then, for reasons I still couldn’t explain, I walked over to Cammy and whispered, “Have you ever noticed Godfrey Klein’s teeth? His smile is like…perfect.”
She shot me a look that stayed in my head for hours. I left the tasting room and walked back to the house, determined to do two things—work on my screenplay and continue my sleuthing.
At a little past two, Rosalee Marbleton called and I was totally unprepared for what she told me.
“Your plan worked, Norrie! Leandre is ecstatic! He filled the oak barrel with water but used the numbering sheet as if it was wine. He also used that transparency paper you suggested, and we got fingerprints! The culprits poured lots of calcium carbonate into the water thinking they were tampering with our Pinot Noir. The surprise will be on them when an arrest is made. I called the sheriff’s department and they sent someone over first thing in the morning. I wanted to call you sooner, but I’ve been inundated.”
“No problem. I understand. That’s fantastic news. Keep me posted, okay?”
“Of course.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to let Theo and Don know.”
“Thank you. I was going to call them myself, so this is really a time saver for me. I’m going to send an email to our WOW group and let them know.”
“Good idea. Talk to you later.”
For the first time in days, I felt as if the muddled mess we were dealing with might actually clear up. As it turned out, I was wrong. Theo burst my bubble within seconds of picking up my call.
“Yeah, of course it’s good news. Great news, really, except…well, for one thing. The fingerprints they pull must be in a database. The sheriff’s department will start with the criminal database and then move on to federal and state files…Department of Education, Armed Forces… If our wine vandal isn’t in a known database, finding the prints isn’t going to help. Still, we might have a fighting chance.”
As things turned out, we didn’t. Not a fighting chance, or any chance at all. Whoever tampered with our wines didn’t have a criminal record, hadn’t served in the Armed Forces, and hadn’t been employed by any federal or state agencies. Still, as Deputy Hickman put it when he gave Rosalee the bad news a few days later, “There are lots of individual businesses that require fingerprinting
of their employees. This isn’t over yet.”
I wondered if he coined the phrase from the Starship song, “It’s Not Over ’til It’s Over,” but I doubted it.
That week moved slowly with nothing new to report. No more instances of vandalism or wine theft that we were aware of and, mercifully, no one else claimed rights to Arnold Mowen’s inheritance.
Strangely enough, three or four days before the reading of Arnold’s will, I got a call from Henderson’s Funeral Home in Seneca Falls regarding Lavettia’s final wishes. She had designated me, of all people, as a contact and they had nowhere else to turn.
“Me?” I shouted over the line. “Me? I hardly knew the woman. I think I met her on two occasions. I don’t understand.”
“It’s not a matter of money, Miss Ellington. Everything has been paid in full. It’s simply a matter of signing off on her wishes,” the woman at the other end of the line explained.
“Fine. Fine. Whatever has to be signed, I’ll do it, but please don’t expect me to handle the particulars. I know she has an attorney.”
“She did, but she let him go due to a conflict of interest. Anyway, the state will intervene regarding her property and that sort of thing.”
When I got off the phone, I felt miserable. I felt guilty enough for not taking Lavettia seriously when she thought someone was trying to kill her, and now, I shrugged off the disposal of her estate, as if it was something I could toss into a trash compactor. I pushed the caller ID to find her number and then placed the call before I had a chance to change my mind.
“Forget the state intervention,” I said. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to settle her estate.”
When I told Theo and Don about my decision, they said I needed a permanent guardian. It was Taco Tuesday at Abuelos Restaurant in Geneva and a few days shy of the midnight madness we were all dreading.
“Lavettia’s estate? This is worse than that Declan Roth fiasco,” Don said.
“Or that crazy bank impersonator scheme you wanted to pull,” Theo added.
“It’ll be fine. Paperwork, that’s all.”
I figured, once we got past Arnold’s will, everything else would fall in place. We could devote our entire attention to finding his killer. Logically, it made sense, but logic and reality, as I learned, were eons apart.
When I got home after stuffing myself full of tacos and enchiladas, I noticed the answering machine light blinking. Now what? Can’t I enjoy one peaceful evening? I tapped the machine and waited for the message.
“Norrie, hi! The message on your cell phone said the voice mail was full. You have to empty those messages once in a while. It affects the storage. Heck, I don’t mean to be lecturing you. It’s Godfrey. In case you don’t recognize my voice. Call me at home. It’s important. It’s half past nine right now, and I’ll stay up until you return my call. Okay, bye.”
There was only one reason Godfrey would want me to call him back no matter how late it was. Something awful must’ve happened to Francine and Jason. A deadly snake bite? A puma attack? A swarm of flesh eating insects? Or…yikes…one of those adorable poisonous frogs that paralyzed your body in seconds. I glanced at the entomology phone numbers Francine had written on one of her wall charts and dialed Godfrey’s home. He picked up on the second ring.
“What happened?” I gasped into the phone. “Are Francine and Jason still alive?”
“Oh my gosh, Norrie, I didn’t mean to scare you. This has nothing to do with your sister and brother-in-law. They’re fine.”
The tension in my back slowly evaporated as Godfrey continued speaking.
“I called because you’ll never guess what Alex Bollinger found in that cockroach-infested apartment building in Ithaca. He phoned me once he got back to Geneva. You’ll never guess.”
“Geez, I don’t know. A really, really big cockroach?”
“Nope. Alex located the stolen wines from Seneca Lake. Mostly Pinot Noir but a few bottles of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon. They were in the basement of a building on Buffalo Street. Whoever stashed them there thought they were well-hidden under some tarps, but Alex was tracking insect movement and naturally those tarps weren’t going to get in his way. When he realized what was under the tarps, he notified the Ithaca Police Department. I imagine they’re conferring with the county sheriff’s departments and the state police. Boy is that going to be a long process. Sorry to scare you with my phone message, but I thought you’d want to know.”
“I do. I mean, I did. Wow. I can’t even think straight. How did Alex know the wines were stolen and not someone’s secret stash for a party?”
“He didn’t. Not until he called the police and they tallied the cases. Can you believe it? They were stored in separate piles, each one from a different theft. What idiots! The Ithaca Police obtained the information from the state police regarding that delivery truck hijacking and the subsequent thefts the counties reported to them. It was a perfect match. Of course, it took lots of time away from poor Alex, who now has to return tomorrow to finish his study.”
“I don’t suppose they’ll be able to dust for fingerprints or anything, huh?”
“They might, but it’s a longshot. According to Alex, who spoke with them for a while, they’re going to be canvasing the tenants in that building. They already notified the landlord who, again according to what Alex overheard, is being cooperative. The landlord doesn’t live there.”
“Of course not. Who in their right mind would live in a cockroach-infested building unless it was a college student?”
Godfrey laughed. “Good point. This’ll be on all the news stations tomorrow. I guarantee it. And if those wineries think they’re about to get their pricy wines back, they’ll be in for a surprise. Those cases are now evidence.”
“True, but once the thieves are caught, the wine will be returned. Those are cases of reds, and they’re good for years. Too bad it doesn’t help the rest of us whose wines were tampered with or spilled all over the place. I hope our combined law enforcement catches those dirty rats.”
“Yeah, me too. Say, were you really serious about having me attend the reading of Arnold Mowen’s will? That’s what? Three days from now?”
“Uh-huh. And yes. I was serious. With you there, the nuns will feel more relaxed and might let down their guard. If they’re hiding anything, it might slip.”
“I’ve got to admit, this is a first, but sure, I’ll come. I’ve been leading a very organized and predictable life. It’s about time I did something different.”
“Oh, it’ll be different, all right. And about as far from predictable as they get.”
I thought I was being clever and snappy with my response. Little did I know, I was right on the money.
Chapter 22
I called Theo and Don the second I got off the phone with Godfrey. They were incredulous.
“Oh my God!” Don said. “What a coincidence! One minute the guy’s looking for roaches and the next he stumbles on stolen property. I hope the police or whatever agency is taking the lead does a thorough background check on the building’s owner. Then again, it could be one of the tenants…maybe a college student trying to earn a few extra bucks.”
Just then I heard Theo in the background. “If he or she wanted to earn some extra bucks, they should work at a fast-food counter, not rob the local wineries.”
“Shh,” Don said. “I won’t be able to hear Norrie.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. “It’s getting late and I’m exhausted. I’ll catch you tomorrow. After all of this, maybe Pinot No-More can go back to being Pinot Noir.”
Don let out a slight chuckle. “You know what I wonder? Where were the thieves planning to offload the wine? Guess we’ll have to wait until the perpetrators are caught. If they’re caught.”
“At least the police have a starting point for those guys. What about Arnold and Lavettia’s killer?
Too bad the sheriff’s department hasn’t made any progress. Clayton LeVine is still in the running as far as I’m concerned, and what are we supposed to do? Exchange pleasantries with him at the reading of the will? I almost wish we had a metal detector to check for a gun when he steps through the door.”
“Killer or no killer, he’s not going to brandish a gun in front of everyone.”
“We can only hope. Say good night to Theo. Talk to you tomorrow.”
I seriously thought about calling Bradley, but it was already ten forty and I didn’t want to come across as the gossip-mongering screenwriter from Two Witches Winery. Instead, I changed into comfy flannel pajamas and settled on the couch, channel surfing until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. At one point, I thought I heard a noise, but it turned out to be the dog. He bumped the coffee table on his way upstairs, beat me to the bed, and refused to budge an inch.
* * * *
A few inches of snow fell overnight, but nothing that made anyone around here bat an eyelash. I defrosted some raisin bread, popped in a K-cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, and poured Charlie his kibble. I opened the fridge to grab some milk and the phone rang. I figured maybe it was Godfrey calling with more news, or Don and Theo calling to see if I’d heard any more tidbits. Instead, it was Bradley.
“I was going to call you last night,” I said, “but it got too late.”
“I’ve been meaning to call you for days, but it seems as if I’m yanked around with one thing or another. I promise, Norrie, after this will-reading debacle, we’re going to enjoy a leisurely gourmet dinner, even if it means driving out of state to get away.”
“Hey, you don’t have to apologize. I’ve been just as busy as you. I have a screenplay hanging over my head and a zillion winery things to worry about. Not to mention those unsolved murders. But there’s one good thing—the stolen wines were found. That’s why I was going to call you last night.”
“When? Where?”
In that instant, I figured it hadn’t made the news yet or Bradley was too preoccupied to turn on his TV or push one of his news app icons.
